When the Medication You Take for Depression Doesn't Work
I hate taking my medication.
Not because I “don’t want to be on medication.”
Not because I have a strange complex about turning into my mother, who just so happened to take medication.
Not because I just want to stay miserable.
But because even when I take it, religiously, I’m still miserable.
I’ve been in therapy for two years since November, and God I love my therapist. She’s like the mom I never had while also being the person who can tell me she’s not gonna take my shit.
It’s an interesting dynamic that I’ve never experienced.
My psychiatrist quickly followed suit in agreement and confirmed her diagnosis.
I’ve had a “mood disorder” diagnosed since I was 16, but from my earliest memories I’ve never been happy.
I’ve been on almost every major SSRI antidepressant out there and several of the SNRI’s.
And I hate that.
I hate that no matter what I’ve been on, there’s always this great darkness surrounding me, wrapping me up in her tattered wings and assuring me I’m never going to alone.
Right now I’m on medication, but it’s probably going to increase next winter. I also have seasonal affective disorder.
Which is just a really cool way of saying I trade out my regular depression for fancy Christmas depression that leaves me irritable, exhausted and tossing words like “suicidal ideation” around like black confetti.
I don’t want to be miserable.
I don’t want to be as disappointing as my depression makes me believe I am.
I want to be a good daughter, sister, wife, dog mom and friend.
But I’m exhausted from just trying to go to work and not just stay cuddled up in my bed wrapped in my down comforter with my head against the bosom of my misery allowing her darkness to hold me captive in the only place I feel safe.
Don’t assume I enjoy my misery or that I don’t want to “get better.” Because for me, this might be as good as it’s going to get.
Editor’s note: Please see a doctor before starting or stopping a medication.
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